


Fate and it's delicious ways

by happyfangirl289



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Smut, restaurant AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 10:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6901729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyfangirl289/pseuds/happyfangirl289
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy prides himself on a lot of things, his burgeoning restaurant, his oodles of charm and his ability to be in control of every situation. That is, until, one Mr. Harry Potter, swaggers in and threatens to upend Draco's carefully balanced personal and professional life... Will Draco embrace or push away the The Git Who Lived?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bloody Sodding Potter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction so I hope you enjoy it! Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think! Unfortunately I do not have a Beta so I'm here for all the constructive criticism you can throw at me! (keyword here being constructive ;D) You can talk to me on my tumblr, iratebuthappyfangirl, about the fic or anything else and I will gladly answer back! Thank you!

As Draco stood in the recesses of his office, he couldn't help but feel the swell of pride that began to creep its way into his chest, squeezing and bringing forth a happy grin, that most would call joyous. But not Draco. This was euphoria at its finest. It had been approximately a year since he'd opened Insignia to the general wizarding public, and business was booming. The food and the ambience that promised to bring the best of France had enthralled all that had visited.

 Of course none but his staff knew that he was the rightful owner of the establishment. It wouldn't do for an ex-death eater to run a respectable eatery, that would be the first thing they would say if they knew.

 

So Draco was content to let Blaise Zabini, best friend and “owner of the restaurant” to soak up all the praise and accolades, as long he got to quietly keep an eye on operations from the kitchen and his private office. And Draco was doing just that.

 He could clearly see his delighted patrons eyeing the poached lobster with much relish, from his place in his office. Placed discreetly at the end of the dining area, protected with several disillusionment charms and protective wards, so that no one would accidentally happen upon it during a visit to the wash room. Draco let out a sigh of contentment as he saw a woman slip into what people called a “food coma” after tasting the mushroom jus. He must remember to compliment Delacour on his excellent work. All the galleons that he spent to hire the snooty Frenchman was indeed worth it, Draco thought, smirking to himself.

 

That’s when the blasted thing the muggles called a mobile phone began to ring incessantly from his drawer. The sudden outburst of Bach’s ‘Mass in  B minor’ in the elegantly furnished room, startles him out of his blissful stupor and he nearly face plants onto the wooden floor. With a string of expletives streaming of his mouth, he bends to pick up the hellish thing out of his drawer. He had bought the irritating contraption so that his employees could contact him at all times without them seeking him out in public. He regrets his decision each time it begins to ring.

He picks it up and jabs at it violently and barks into the phone, “What is it?!”

There seems to be silence at the end of the line that definitely does nothing to soothe his temper.Before Draco could scold whoever it is that interrupted him he hears a raspy voice say “One of the customers wants to meet the owner Monsieur.”

That voice that often reminded him of a dying crup was undoubtedly his head waiter, Moreau.

“ Why?” he said trying not to sound anxious.

“He says he wants to congratulate him on his success” says Moreau, sounding a bit wary. But then again Moreau was always wary of enthusiastic patrons, but Draco always welcomed the conversation. It always led to lots of appreciation, and that was fodder to his ego.

“Well just tell Blaise to handle it then, I'm sure he’s with the sommelier, hand picking the wine for dinner” Draco huffed in annoyance. 

They had been through this multiple times, if the owner insisted on seeing the owner, Blaise would be directed to their table and would proceed to charm the pants of them. It had always been like that!

“ But monsieur he insists on seeing _you_!” whispered Moreau, no doubt trying to keep the conversation private from said customer.

His blood ran cold as he thought of who it could be. _No one_ knew about him, so who the hell was this guy? He couldn't fathom what would happen if he was forced to confront this man.The news that he worked in, nevertheless owned Insignia would probably travel so fast that the place would probably shut down before he could say ‘Deatheater’.

Draco gulped nervously and said “ Just tell him that he’s barmy if he thinks Draco Malfoy works here and that he should just probably go back to enjoying his food!” voice rising to a nervous squeak, a habit he often resorted to when stressed.

He waited by anxiously as he heard his head waiter trying to tell the customer what Draco had told him to say, albeit more politely, but the customer seemed very adamant.

When suddenly he heard Moreau let out a surprised but defiant “sir” before another voice began to speak to him. 

“Sorry Malfoy, didn't mean to manhandle your waiter but he just wouldn't listen! I know you're in there so could I please just come and meet you because the people here are starting to give me strange looks.”

Oh shit. This couldn't be! Why is bloody sodding Potter in HIS FUCKING RESTAURANT ASKING FOR HIM!! This day couldn't get any worse, Draco thought resignedly.


	2. Attractive saviours

“Malfoy, you there?” Potter's voice rang, when Draco had fallen silent for a while. And how could he possibly say anything when his stomach roiled and his chest ached with apprehension. But in the end he knew he couldn't do anything and he might as well hope to Merlin and Morgana that this meeting wouldn't be an utter mess.

“Alright Potter, follow the waiter to my office and we will talk there. Ju..Just don't make more of a mess please? And pass the phone to Moreau” He said, trying to sound authoritative but coming across asthmatic instead.

“Right sorry Malfoy, didn't mean to draw any attention..” said Potter, sounding sheepish.  
And what was all this tripe about not wanting to draw any attention? He was Harry Bloody Potter for Christ’s sake! He was as much of an attention grabber as rainbow dildo, Pansy had always said.

“Monsieur I'm really sorry, I tried to-” “No matter that, just get him to Blaise's office and we shall talk there” Draco said quelling Moreau's apology. God knows he didn't have the strength to deal with it.

He quickly casts a disillusionment charm and strolls out of the office. He looks around and sees his diners digging into the various courses on offer for lunch. Businessmen digging into the salmon while high society pureblood women tittered about their vacation plans while savouring the apple tarte tatin, a recipe Draco was quite partial to. As he strode towards the kitchens, behind which stood Blaise’s office, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he lost all of this.

Sighing, he crept into the kitchen and lifted the charm off of him. The kitchen was a state of the art affair, with stainless steel countertops and copper utensils that came from the talented craftsmen in France. He had shelled out at least half of his fortune trying to build this restaurant up.  
“ Ah Draco, what brings you here?” his smug head chef, Delacour, said.

Draco gritted his teeth before he could say anything unfortunate. Delacour was Head chef at one of Draco's favourite restaurants in France, one that he often frequented with his mother. When he had finally made the decision to open a restaurant in Diagon Alley, he knew he needed someone like Delacour to herald operations, a frenchman with the charisma and tenacity to commandeer a kitchen along with, of course, exquisite cooking sensibilities.After weeks of clever deliberation and grovelling,Delacour had finally agreed to come back with him to Britain, along with him his small army of apprentices. Of course he had to pay for all their expenses for nearly the entirety of the time it took to set the restaurant up, but at the end, Delacour and his minions had paid him back plenty with their dedication and excellent work. Even though he sometimes wanted to wipe that permanent smirk off of Delacour's portly, moustachioed face

“Im off to Blaise's office, and by the way, the duck, I heard, was delicious, good work”  
“Thank you, mon cher” said Delacour looking even more smug, if that were possible. 

Draco waved and nearly collided into a waiter brandishing around a plate of dessert. He raises a brow at him and the waiter flushes, hurrying away, mumbling apologies.Before Draco can get smothered by anybody else, he strides out of the kitchen, smells of tarragon and duck fat wafting after him. 

As he takes the long corridor to Blaise’s office, he can't help but think of the last time he had seen Potter. It was probably during the graduation ceremony at Hogwarts.. Nearly all of the Gryffindors had come back for their eighth year, including the Golden trio. Draco and Potter called an uneasy truce at the beginning of the year, tired of the fighting, they had grown up too much to possibly think of each other as enemies.

‘Of course Potter had to go and ruin it!’ Draco thought frustratedly, as he continued through the corridors. And who in Merlin's name thought long corridors were a good idea?! 

Yeah where was he? Oh yes stupid Potter and ruining things. Throughout eighth year Draco kept out of everybody's way, being the only returning Slytherin. Not that he didn't have taunts thrown at him every other way, but he gritted his teeth and just studied anyway. Everybody knew that if he put up a fight he would be bundled off to Azkaban, to rot with his father. The only other person he would speak to was surprisingly, Granger. Even though she and the Weasley would often fight about it. Him saying that I was evil and trouble ( while he was in the same room) and her arguing that I had changed and seemed to be nice (again while he was in the same room) They would often sit at the same table at the library, wordlessly studying unless Granger deemed it necessary to have conversation. Then of course one day Potter decided to join them, uninvited that too!  
\  
After that Potter seemed to be everywhere, asking to be his potions partner (when he couldn't find one), studying with him at the library and even drinking with him a few times at their shared common room, when their stilted dorm rooms did nothing to help with the nightmares of the war.

Those days he found out most about Potter, how he hated all the fame, about his hellish childhood and his godfather (and his cousin) Sirius. Draco never did know if he meant to say any of it or the firewhiskey dulled his senses enough to fess up.

The next thing he knows he has feelings for Potter! Every time they're together he can't help but wonder how green his eyes are or how soft his stupid birds nest of a hair is! And top it all of he also had to be charming and funny! And he knew that the last thing he wanted was to get hung up on Potter, Merlin knows he had other more important things to do, like reinstate the Malfoy reserves, half of which were drained by the Ministry bastards after the war. But what he really was scared of was rejection. He knew that Potter was as straight as a stick and even if he did have feelings for men, the Saviour of the Wizarding World probably wouldn't be interested in an ex-deatheater with multiple issues anyways. 

So he did what any man who had grown fond of his ex arch rival did: He cut of all ties after they graduated. Even though Potter had sincerely made him promise to owl after they'd graduated. He should've known how easy promises are to break.

And here he was, awaiting his object of affection, the one he'd eagerly tried to avoid over two years, and Draco didn't know what the buggering fuck to feel about it

“Ow!” Draco yelped ‘more like a manly screamed’ he would later argue as he bumped his head on the cold metal door of the walk in refrigerator at the end of the hallway. He was so immersed in his thoughts of Potter, he had missed Blaise's office. He back tracked a few steps and stopped in front of the Mahogany door and pushed it open. 

Blaises office was almost identical to Draco's, except for the giant bookcase near the entrance, filled with books about wine and such. ‘I will never understand his obsession with it’ Draco thought as he parked himself on the leather chaise next to the desk where Blaise often entertained his guests (and occasional paramour). Draco scuffed his leather loafers on the cashmere carpet and smoothed down his trousers with want to keep his hands occupied.  
Why the bloody hell was he so nervous!

‘Oh I don't know, because your very business hangs on the line with this meeting’ while an other voice unhelpfully provided ‘We all know that isn't what he's nervous about!’ and it suspiciously sounded like Pansy.  
After ten agonising minutes of waiting, during which Draco almost knocked off the antique lamp at the end of the room and nearly trampled on a crystal paper weight that he dropped, he finally heard a knock at the door. 

“Come in!” he shouted, straightening his tie for the 100th time. Moreau peeked his head in and looked embarrassed. Interesting..

“Where's Potter?” he barked.

“Monsieur he is being held up in the kitchen, Monsieur Delacour insists on talking to him” said Moreau having the decency to look sheepish.

Draco was this close to throwing a book at Moreau, preferably the vile one about optimum grape growing climates. “Well then go get him!” trying to sound as condescending as possible.

He nodded in the affirmative and backed away but was immediately disrupted by someone's chest, Potter's chest to be precise.  
Moreau gaped at him and excused himself while Potter edged his way into the office.

And oh Merlin's saggy robes, how in the world did Potter get even more attractive over time! He was wearing his auror red robes that perfectly draped across his muscular body, perfectly accentuating every sinewy curve.  
Draco never did understand uniform kinks, but Potter definitely made a convincing case. His face sporting a lazy smile, bright green eyes crinkling at the corners, those speccy glasses and staring at him intently. That hair was as messy as ever but even that just increased his bloody appeal! ‘Potter is going to be the utter death of me!’ Draco thought as he motioned for him from the door.


End file.
